Picking up the Pieces
by Ceriene
Summary: Broke you. Shook you to shattered shards. Can I help you pick up the pieces now? Please? A collection of Yuffentine drabbles.
1. The Thanks She Gets

**Title: **The Thanks She Gets  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 289  
**Disclaimer:** Yuffie Kisaragi and Vincent Valentine. Don't own. Don't sue.

It was almost too easy.

Routine even.

He'd come back from another one of his godforsaken trips, thoroughly exhausted. His mind in such ruins, his body so tattered, she didn't know what to say.

So she didn't.

Instead, she'd carefully peeled the remains of his cloak from him, running fingers through his hair to calm him, as he held onto her, so tightly his fingers left bruises on her pallid skin.

She wasn't so sure why she didn't mind.

She supposed she knew how it felt, to be a sailor so long lost at sea that once land was within hands-reach one would cling to it so mercilessly for fear of drifting away again.

Guiding him to the ugly, worn, mustard-yellow couch, she'd sit him down and see to his wounds, fumbling clumsily, partially because of his hold on her and partially because, well, she _was_ Yuffie.

When bandages were put aside and his body had begun to succumb to his weariness, he still had yet to release her.

She didn't say a word.

Smoothing the lines of anguish from his face came too naturally. Falling asleep in his arms was a welcome thought.

She'd brush the stray hairs from his face, repeating the motion until his breathing slowed and his grip on her relaxed a little. In his state of half-consciousness, she'd slip into his embrace, her head resting on his chest, listening to the rhythmic beats of his heart. There was comfort in that, the fact that his heart was still beating and that he was still here, with her. She let it lead her into sleep, like a sweet, tinkling lullaby.

And then of course, just before she slipped into slumber, he'd ruin everything.

"..thank you.. Lucrecia.."  



	2. Picking Up the Pieces

Title: Picking up the Pieces

Rating: PG

--

I can't really think of a time when I wasn't afraid. Just like I can't think of a time when I actually kept my promises.

Of course, I'm the Great Ninja Yuffie, I don't have time to be afraid. Except I am. Always.

First, I was afraid of you, when you threw the coffin lid off so hard, its clatters echoed through the basement. I really almost wanted to run then, before you stepped out of it and looked so deadly with those stupid crimson bloody gorgeous evil red eyes of yours. Then I wasn't so scared, because even though you were everything that defined deadly, you were still human.

A broken man maybe, but still a man.

There was the turning point when I got less afraid of you and more afraid for you. I'm not so sure when, but I have some pretty good guesses.

It might have been the day before the final battle, before we faced Sephiroth. When I was hiding in the back of Cid's ship, thinking I was gonna die and all. When you came and stood by me, like you'd protect me for ever and ever and ever until Sephiroth was really gone, and it made me feel a bit better really. Because then I learned that though you were still a fractured soul, you'd somehow find a way to pull yourself to your feet to protect the people important to you.

Maybe it was then.

Since then I knew that I had to be afraid for you, because you weren't so scared for yourself. Why else did I have to save you that time, when all you'd look at was that Shelke girl? Why the hell else did I feel so empty when I thought I had no one left to be afraid for because you were almost gone for good?

But you weren't and thanks to that I still have things to fear.

Now all the bad stuff's past, and I'm almost old but not quite, why am I still scared for you? Maybe because I'm fearing that in the end, now that you've put yourself back together again so neatly, clumsy clumsy ninja Yuffie will break you again.

Now, you're alive and fixed and unbroken, sitting a couple seats away from me, but I don't hold you as tempting as it is. I have every reason to be so horribly afraid of everything but I'm not, for once. So I do hold you, cause I have to and cause clumsy me will be extra careful not to break you and shatter you into a bajillion pieces.

And even if I do break you, I promise I'll be here to put you back together again, cause I know you can't do it alone.

And I'll be keeping my promises too.


	3. Windflowers

Title: Windflowers  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: Fluff. So much pointless fluff.

--

"You don't get it!"

The petite ninja stomped her feet in a mock tantrum, as a stoic gunman watched, feeling more than a little exasperated. The slow autumn breeze swept her hair back as she stopped her stomping and bent down in what could be mistaken as a deep bow. Just as swiftly, she was upright again, in her hand, a fluffy weed-like flower she had plucked from the ground.

She turned and stood, looking him in the eye. She had to look up of course because he was taller than she was, which made her glare quite ineffective in its purpose. Reaching up, she held the cottony blossom in his face.

Talking loudly and slowly, as if she was speaking to a very young (and deaf) child, she said,

"See? Now blow!"

"..Why?"

"JUST DO IT."

And not wanting to enforce the wrath of the young Kisaragi upon himself, he complied. The tiny white, feathery seeds took off into the gentle wind, traveling across a distance before floating gentle back into the grass.

The ninja whooped, grinned and clapped, dropping the now bare stem to the ground. Her soft laugh echoed the empty valley. Triumphantly, she announced, "Now that's why they're called windflowers!"

"Yuffie, that was a dandelion."

She shook a finger at him, "Nuh-uh, Vinnie, windflower." She looked back across the field, hand shielding her eyes from a non-existent sun. "Or weedflower, if you like. Those things grow too fast for they're own good; and then someone picks 'em up and sets their little seeds free and they're gone before you know it."

Unbeknownst to her, Vincent's eyes had left the valley grass and had instead trained themselves on 19-year-old before him. She stood still, as if lost in the moment, eyes unfocused and expression dazed. To Vincent, she'd never seemed more fragile, so much more breakable than her usual hyperactive self, an unstoppable force stilled.

He leaned down to break another "windflower" from it's stem. Stepping closer to her, he watched her whirl around as his heavy footfalls neared her.

"Vinnie, what-?"

Her jaw hung open, though no sound came as she gaped at the blossom a gloved hand held up to her mouth.

"Your turn."

Her momentary look of surprise disappeared as lips quirked into a mischievous smile. Blowing the seeds in the direction of his face, she pouted as the wind swept the seeds away from them both, dancing in the grey September sky. Then she was smiling again, in that content, lop-sided way of hers.

"..indeed.. gone before you know it." He echoed her last words in his deep baritone.

Her eyes flicked from the peaceful scene to meet his own crimson ones. Her small hand reached out to cradle his, her fair skin contrasting sharply with the harsh black of his glove. Her gaze lingered on their fingers intertwined, then darted back up to him, before she grinned.

"Come now, Vinnie McVampire, I'm not going anywhere."

--

This is the way I say I love you.  
This is the way I say I need you.  
This is the way I say I'm yours.  
This is the way.

_Learning to Breathe - Switchfoot_


End file.
